The Truth About Forever
by sparzelli
Summary: But it's not about the end. It's about right now: it's you and her and how everything is in your grasp, if only you wouldn't let it go. Zutara.
1. I: premise

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything from Avatar: The Last Airbender.

* * *

_What a tacky sunset, what a vulgar moon._

* * *

They meet for the first time when she is seven and he is nine.

The nations are peaceful and unscarred by war.

She is a young girl, excited by the shapes the steam from her tea makes as it coils upwards. Her father is her hero and her brother the "enemy", her mother a saint and her tribe an army. She doesn't understand what it is to lie, for she always says what she means; she is always her best possible version.

He is only ever excited when his father, Fire Lord Ozai, graces him with a simple conversation. His favorite weapon is fire fueled with anger and taunting from his sister. He loves his mother more than life.

He knows all about lying. He sees the young girl's face and wants to teach her what it means to be deceitful.

Her father and Southern Water Tribe chief, Hakoda, has taken their family to the Fire Nation Capitol as a pit stop on a world tour. She has strange mocha-colored skin and hair that would be like his, if not for the gentle touch of brown.

He is standing with his mother at the specialties stand while he watches swift fingers weave a red ribbon through her braid. She laughs as her brother attempts to tie a bow around his meager bundle of hair.

He hears his mother ask the vendor for ocean kumquats, a water tribe dish, and he thinks: _for one night, I can be just like you. For one night, we are almost the same._

The girl's mother spins her around gently to button up the back of a shirt and their eyes meet.

Her face is smooth with soft edges, as a child's should be. Her eyes are bright and round and pure. He knows she is startled by the strange and concentrated look on his face, but he can't help but stare at her-_who is she? Why is she so…_

Her mother spins her back around and looks her over. She nods in approval and takes her hand as Hakoda the Water Tribe chief pays the vendor for the ribbon and clothing.

He hears a faint, "_Come along, Katara,_" and understands.

_Happy. Why is she so happy?_

His own mother tugs him along after she has finished her shopping and he drags his feet.

"Come along, Zuko," she says lightly.

He looks back at Katara once more before she is lost in the crowd of people, a speck of blue overcome by the dust.

--

For a nine-year-old boy, he doesn't talk much. Even when he overhears his mother and father discussing the water tribe people that will be their guests that night (which certainly explains the ocean kumquats), he has enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

His mother isn't bad but he knows if he lets one word slip out Ozai will shoot him a dirty look and he won't be happy for days. He's a solid believer that children should be "seen and not heard".

Sometimes Zuko sits in the library and reads the history books on the royal families of the world and wonders why his own is so different.

In the Earth Kingdom, it's customary of the king and queen to celebrate the birth of their first child with a lavish ceremony and blessing from the avatar. Water tribe leaders take their families on tours of the four nations to celebrate world peace. The air nomad's oldest monks tend to baptize their young in holy water and take them up on a flying bison in a sky ceremony. He vaguely remembers hearing once that in such a ceremony the children were also tattooed.

As far as he knows, the only things royal families of the fire nation do are throw parties and pass down heirlooms.

And despite the lack of culture, he would feel blessed to come from such a privileged family (he really would) except for the fact that his sister turned out to be a nasty little girl and his father doesn't care (except for his image). He has other family, sure, but isn't a father supposed to be a role model? Aren't baby sisters supposed to ask for help, not throw you to the ground?

Ozai and Azula are a far cry from his uncle Iroh. He visits sometimes, and his stories are a little hard to follow, but he's mostly the best person Zuko has met so far. (Apart from Katara, but he doesn't count that because one fleeting glance can't really determine how you feel about someone, how they are.)

He's in his bedroom; body sprawled over the red sheets of his bed as he thinks about these things. His eyes search out a stained glass picture depicting an Agni Kai and he sighs. His eyes drift even lower to a framed black and white still of his family at the beach. He blinks slowly as he looks at the expressions on their faces.

He remembers the day so clearly, the laughter of his baby sister as she played in the sand, the smile of his mother as she collected shells. He recalls how his father absorbed the sunlight and blew fire over sand to make glass sculptures. There's two matching pieces in the entrance hall. His father had conjured lightning and struck a dune in such a way that it exploded and melted at the same time, forever freezing it in a waterfall-like state. They're the most beautiful pieces of artwork in the entire palace.

The thing that he remembers most clearly is how _different_ they had been – not entirely burdened by duty and honor to the Fire Nation, but instead just a simple family, enjoying a day together.

It takes him a good couple of minutes to quit daydreaming and put two and two together to realize that if his parents are having guests from a Water Tribe over for dinner then it must be Katara's family. What other Water Tribe people would be visiting? (The culture shock is really starting to set in and suddenly the thought of kumquats is making him nauseous.)

The Fire Nation is dry and hot, and not at all the place you'd expect to find somebody that grew up swathed in glaciers and blue. He feels strangely excited that he's going to see Katara again. He wants to get inside her head and hear about her life, far away from the Fire Nation, far away from the doubt and insecurities that poison his family and youth.

(Some would call it curiosity, he calls it the truth.)

--

Years ago, when Azula was still truly a little girl, they would play a game called Ant in the sunroom. There were only ever two players, brother and sister, and one would play the human (this was almost always him) and one the ant (almost always her). The human wore a blindfold. The ant would choose a hiding spot in the room, lower their breathing and close their eyes. And the human would try to sense them.

When the human thought they knew where the ant was hiding, they would use firebending to magnify the sun and burn the ant.

If you were to pull up his shirt, there would be almost half a dozen perfect red circles where Azula burned him. He was never good at playing the ant.

But Azula was burned twice as often as he was. He almost felt guilty for scarring his sister, except that Ozai condoned it. His excuse was that "it helped with tracking skills. His mother was always the one that bandaged them up and mourned over the loss of friendly sibling interaction.

And if you want to know a secret, Zuko was always good at the tracking part (but what good does hunting do a six year old when they really need to know how to hide?).

--

When the family arrives, servants usher them into the sunroom where Zuko and his family are waiting. He's sitting next to Azula and watching her pick at the split ends in her hair. His mother slaps her hand away before taking Ozai's arm and smiling pristinely at the doorway.

Hakoda has his big brown hand resting upon the back of Katara's neck. Her hair has been let down and brushed through so the waves shine in the sunlight. Her eyes are big and blue (he's suddenly and swiftly reminded of where the sky and ocean meet) as she stares at him. He furrows his eyebrows and tries to understand the blinding smile that is stretching over her face.

Her brother pushes ahead through the small group and drops to the floor, folding himself comfortably upon a pillow. His sister sniffs and blinks slowly at him.

Their parents exchange formalities as the children turn their backs.

"Welcome to the Fire Nation," his mother shakes hands with Hakoda.

"We're pleased to be here, as well as gain an audience with the Lord and Lady," Hakoda returns. They sit on opposite loveseats and discuss politics while Azula rests her head on their mother's knee.

He watches their lips move, fascinated by how much their faces reveal about them. His father is tight-lipped and frowning, indicating that he's a liar. He's unhappy. His mother is open and warm and nothing but interested in the foreigners. The Water Tribe people are completely relaxed and content. He's almost jealous.

When he looks back to where he should, he finds that Azula and Katara's brother have begun to argue over a plate of crackers.

"You shouldn't eat so much before dinner," his sister warns. Sokka, Katara's brother, has begun to shovel the food into his mouth. Katara stares with open eyes as he eats cracker after cracker.

"He has a big stomach," she mediates. Azula rolls her eyes and picks at a nail.

"Ish twoo," Sokka defends himself. Zuko doesn't say a word. (It's going to be a long dinner, he knows.)

After almost twenty minutes of watching Sokka choke down the appetizers, a palace servant comes into the room. She squints from the sun and bows formally.

"Fire Lord and Lady, guests of the Water Tribe, I am here to escort you to the dining hall. If you could please…?"

Everybody stands as the servant stumbles nervously. Zuko counts the flames in her robes as they are led down the hallway. He feels the heat envelope him when Katara moves up to walk beside him. He looks at her, so much smaller than he is, and stares at the curls on her head.

"Hello," she says brightly. Her eyes are a strange and captivating blue, her face a foreign expanse of skin. Her features are evenly set and sized, her chin perfectly narrowed from her jaw, her teeth straight and pearly white.

"Hello, Katara," he murmurs. She fiddles with her ribbon and proceeds to tell him all about the Water Tribe, penguin sledding and her world tour. She says the next place they're going is Omashu in the Earth Kingdom. He almost wants to tell her that Omashu is a wasteland and nothing like the stories elders tell, but she is giggling and happy and even he can't bear to crush that.

They are seated next to each other at the table and he watches her hands as she spreads a red napkin over her lap. The clashing colors of her dress and the fabric confuse him for a moment. They push through the courses and their parents make simple conversation, never going farther than touching the surface of politics. It's mostly pleasant.

When the kumquats are brought out, his mother smiles proudly and Katara squeals. Sokka rubs his stomach and Zuko looks up in time to watch Azula and Ozai sigh.

She takes her spoon and puts them into her mouth and he smiles when juice spills over her lips. She giggles and picks up the napkin.

They smile at each other until he hears his father interrupt.

"I've noticed lately that the ice exports have been slowing," he remarks offhandedly. Zuko's mother gives him a frustrated look out of the corner of her eye. She whispers his name sternly under her breath and puts a hand on his arm. "Is there a reason for this?"

Hakoda narrows his eyes and cocks his head. "I wasn't aware," he says carefully.

"The last shipment of ice we received was documented to be about two months ago and even that was a meager supply. My people need ice to keep their food from spoiling. Is there a reason for this? Have shipments been delayed on purpose?"

"I'm not sure why our exports have slowed," Hakoda assures, "but I will send a letter to my second in command, Bato, as soon as I am able. I will find the reason behind the delays."

Ozai quirks a corner of his lips upwards and smiles a little. (It isn't real.) "Thank you," he says solemnly. They exchange nods as the next course is brought out.

--

After the dinner Zuko stumbles out of the grand double doors of the palace and makes his way to the beach. His feet barely make dents in the damp sand and he almost slips on the rocks. There's a random piece of driftwood caught in netting and plant life on the shore. The sun is beginning to set and the sky is a beautiful burnt orange and pink, almost red near the horizon, where water and sky meet. When he turns to look over his back he sees the bruise-colored blue and purple that encases the moon.

He walks aimlessly for a while, thinking about his family and Katara's family and how things aren't at all how they should be anymore (how he's growing up far too fast and his sister never smiles anymore and his mother is breaking) and he chokes on anger he can never properly express before coming to a stop.

There's a lone figure in the distance, arms stretched high above its head as it pulls streams of water from the ocean to dance through. He knows it's her. She spins on her toes and meets his gaze, even from far away. They stare at each other with curiosity and wonder until she smiles serenely and freezes the pools at her feet. He walks towards her hurriedly, aching for anything that can ease the burning of disappointment leftover from earlier, and she watches him with calculating eyes that cannot (in no way) belong to a seven-year-old child (it's impossible).

When he gets a couple dozen yards away she backs up until her bare feet are overcome by the tide and he slows to a stop.

She's perfect in almost every way. He's barely an adolescent and he already knows how things are going to end up. (This of all things is what he's now thinking of.)

When she dives into the water and swims to the rock breakers he turns to leave.

* * *


	2. I: stolen

Her family left after the dinner. He walked back up to the palace and went to find Sokka, to see maybe if he wanted to spar a little, and a servant told him that their family had gone. Zuko vaguely remembers struggling to get through the double doors that were always too heavy for children to push by themselves and waving to the dust their palanquin left behind.

--

When he first meets Mai, she's reading Fire Nation legends in the palace library with Azula. They're reading his particular favorite, the story of the first Agni Kai, when he silently steps through the door propped open to watch them. Azula had apparently ordered Mai to read the story out loud. He's lulled by the tone of her voice – how she somehow manages to sound bored without being offensive.

He watches the shape her lips make when they form the words of the story. She runs her finger over the pictures and her eyes watch Azula as she looks out the window. She's pretty in a noble and strange way; plain, but fascinating.

He's interested in her for a couple of months before he figures out how arrogant she really is.

And the idea of being with Mai somehow pales in comparison to being with a girl he knows nothing about and hasn't seen in years. (Even if said girl is a waterbender.)

--

Four years pass faster than he would like.

His sister is now training in the arts of being a woman as well as firebending and normal combat, and he himself has begun to learn advanced swords with Master Pakku and firebending with his uncle.

His mother has gotten even quieter, if that was possible – and his father louder and more demanding. Their family dinners are no longer an enjoyable time to catch up, but instead considered filling the quota of time they have to spend together.

He wonders what Katara has become now. Is her hair longer? Is she a worthy bending opponent? She's…two years younger than him, at least, if he can remember correctly. He never learned the date of her birthday. What of her family?

He lies in the grass of the courtyard, listening to the turtle ducks peck at bread he left on a lily pad in the pond.

He guesses that she's even more beautiful.

He stares at the endless expanse of sky and tosses an apple from hand to hand. His brow furrows as he pictures her face in the clouds. He knows it's useless to waste his time on a girl he'll probably never see again, but – four years. It's been that long and he still thinks of her almost every day. If there was a way to see her again, he knows he would have thought of it by now.

He turns his head slightly and rolls his eyes when he sees Ty Lee making her way towards him. (On her hands, of course.)

"Hi, Zuko!" she chirps. He wants to wince, but keeps it inside and tries to remember that this is the nicest of his sister's friends.

"Hello, Ty Lee. How are you?"

"I'm fabulous! Look what my sisters taught me to do!" She pulls her leg up until it's parallel to her body.

His face twists uncomfortably. "Wow, Ty Lee, that's really-"

"Oh, I'm not done." She switches her leg around so it's behind her back. Zuko almost feels himself gag. "_Now_ I'm done. Isn't that neat? I suppose the only reason I can do it is because I have double-jointed hips, but it can't be that hard. Why don't you try? I'll help you stretch!"

"No thank you, Ty Lee."

"Really? Well, okay, if you say so-"

"I do."

"Oh Zuko, you're too funny."

He smiles tightly. "How is your family?" He knows that Ty Lee is a good a distraction as any to keep him from thinking about Katara. Maybe if he plays his cards right he'll be able to trick an idea out of her without giving too much away. Maybe he can tell her he wants to see Sokka again, to study other nation's fighting techniques.

"-And then Wai Lee spilled the entire basket all over the floor and _I _had to sweep it up. Isn't that unfair?" she whined. Zuko narrowed his eyes in concentration. _What was she talking about…?_

"Completely unfair," He concedes.

"But enough about me, Zuko. How are you?"

"I'm enjoying the sunlight."

"You know what you _should_ be doing?" Ty Lee arches a brow.

"No. What?"

"Planning for your birthday party!" His eyes widen. _That's the perfect way to see her again._ "Silly Zuko, you thought we forgot, didn't you?"

He flashes her a neat row of teeth. "Of course you didn't forget, Ty Lee. Would you like to help me plan?" She nods enthusiastically and he tosses the apple behind him.

--

When the night of the party arrives, he is bathing in warm water in the fading daylight coming through a window. He sits curled into himself in a tub, the water smooth and reflective as glass. He counts the steps to his favorite dance in his head and wonders if she's coming.

Almost a week ago, Ty Lee helped him concoct a guest list and send out the invitations. His mother had been itching for him to have a party anyway – and it wasn't like he could get away with not having one. He was the heir to the Fire Nation. It would be sin to not celebrate his birthday.

He twists his leg out from underneath him and sighs. Not that he _wants_ to have a party in particular. The adults that pinch his cheek and nobles daughters begging for dances itch on his nerves and it's hard to not want to hit some of them. He struggles to blow damp hair out of his eyes and looks out the window. He sees the courtyards, the ponds and perfectly manicured bushes and such. He closes his eyes. _Home_.

A loud knock on the door interrupts his musings and a servant girl calls to him.

"Your mother requests that you dress now, Sir." He nods to himself and stands.

"Leave my clothes in my room," he calls. He hears the retreating footsteps of the girl and steps out. With a little firebending help he steams the water off of his skin and out of his hair.

Her family hadn't responded to the invitation. He didn't necessarily need RSVP's. He was confident that enough people would come to keep it from being a problem, but it would have been nice. (To, you know, at least hear from the general direction of her home.)

He sees the intricate red robes spread over his bed sheets and sighs once more.

_Time to mingle._

When he makes his way down the curved staircase and into the back room, he sees his mother waiting for him.

"Happy birthday, Zuko," she smiles warmly. He nods his thanks and smiles back at her, accepting the hug she pulls him into. "Everybody is waiting in the back courtyard. Come with me," she pulls lightly on his hand. His sister and father are waiting just outside of the doors leading outside and he sees a large crowd. Mixtures of green and red cloud his vision, but as far as his eyes can see there is no blue. He steps into the warm summer air and smiles slightly at the clapping the guests greet him with.

Ozai puts a heavy hand on his shoulder as Azula smirks a little.

"Welcome to the palace," his father begins. "I speak for Prince Zuko and the rest of the family when I thank you for joining us tonight."

People laugh a little and clap. Ozai raises a hand. "Enjoy the festivities." When the music starts up again Zuko turns to his father and nods his head.

"Happy birthday, Zuzu," Azula murmurs. He puts a hand on her arm briefly before turning and descending the stairs into the masses of people.

He searches amidst a flurry of pats on the head and slaps on the back for the faintest trace of blue. Just to see if she's there. He sees a young earthbending girl staring at him and giggling with her friends and he backtracks. The last thing he needs right now is –

"Prince Zuko. Dance with me?" He curses mentally. (The last thing he needs right now is people all over him.)

Instead, he bites his lip and nods. His father would kill him if he were anything but a perfect gentleman to girls that talked to him. He turns to find it's only Mai and takes her hand softly. She reaches out a hand and grips his shoulder as their other hands rise in a traditional Waltz position. He spins her to the music as she sighs and relaxes into his grip. He holds her an arms length away, straining to see over her mass of hair into the crowd.

"Happy birthday," he hears her say. He looks at her for the first time, noticing how smooth and perfect her skin is, just how equal their heights are.

"Thank you," he responds quietly. He decides to put a little more effort into the movements and he smiles when they move into a dip and she laughs. When the song ends he bows his head respectfully.

"I hope you grace me with another dance sometime, your highness," she muses, entertained. He nods and meets her eyes.

"See you." He watches as she turns and saunters back to her friends. Mai was always a nice distraction.

"Looking for someone?"

His head whips around at the new voice, smooth and soft and invasive to his ears. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of her, right in front of him, wearing a pretty blue dress that hugs her torso and falls to her knees. Typical fur covers her shoulders, blocking precious skin from his line of sight. A necklace that wasn't present when he first met her rests on the dip of her throat as he examines her.

"Yes, actually," he manages to say. Twin loops frame her face and lead back to carefully combed curls that shine in the lanterns' glow. "Would you like to dance?"

She scuffs her sandaled feet against the floor and nods a little. She rests her hand comfortably on his shoulder, fingers squeezing slightly as she smiles brilliantly. He rests a palm over her waist and shivers at the heat seeping through her dress. When their hands meet, she laughs and curls her fingers into his.

"How have you been?" He is eager and impatient; she is calm and cool and beautiful. The contrast irritates him. His eyes roam over the tanned skin of her face before she answers.

"Managing, I suppose. When we got back home my dad had to deal with the ice problem the Fire Lord – sorry, Ozai, your father, whichever you prefer – mentioned. It turns out some of our ships wrecked and men were stranded. Had he not mentioned the delays, I don't think we ever would have found the survivors."

He snorts. The last thing he wants to hear about is her gratuity towards _Ozai_.

"My brother turned twelve recently, you know. I feel so young."

His eyebrows furrow. "How old are you?"

"Eleven," she answers serenely. (Impossible. She seems so close to his age.)

"You seem…older," he tries.

She laughs and he grins a little before twirling her outwards and back into him. It's hard to think when she's pressed against him like that, their arms entangled. He watches her face closely as she exhales and looks at their entwined hands.

"I get that a lot. My grandmother says it's because I'm mature."

"You are," he assures her. "I mean…I guess I'm not one to talk. We barely know each other."

"True," she agrees. They dance in silence for a moment.

"I…I feel like I know you, though. Somehow…" he trails off. She looks at him curiously.

"What do you mean?"

He weighs the pros and cons of bringing up the beach. "After the dinner, when you were bending on the beach and I was out for a walk. I saw you. You saw me too, didn't you? Just…there's something about that. I can't exactly place why it was so odd…" She's staring at him funny and he wants to hit himself upside the head. Why would he even bring that up? He probably sounds like some crazy stalker, now. "I'm sorry. Was that strange?"

The corner of her lips twitch up in amusement. "Not really. But I must say, I don't remember a whole lot about that – I was young. And it was so long ago."

(Only four years.)

He nods in understanding.

"Have you ever seen a waterbender bend before, Prince Zuko?"

"Just Zuko, please. No I haven't."

"Would you like to?" She steps away and holds her hands out to him. He furrows his brow and looks around at the crowd. "We won't be gone long, I promise. I wouldn't want to keep you from your party." She giggles. He shrugs and takes her hand. She weaves through the crowd like an expert and takes him away from the lights and people to a small pond.

He watches with interest as she drags her fingers through the air and pulls a thin stream of water up to dance in front of his face. He watches intently as she pulls it around his head, freezes it in a spiral and melts it back down. He smiles when she explodes the meager amount into snow. He catches a few flakes on his hand.

"It's beautiful," he says quietly. She hums with pride and clasps her hands behind her back.

"Would you firebend for me?"

His face falls. "There's nothing pretty about firebending." Despite his words, he conjures a flame and lets the ball hover in his palm. She freezes her water again and cuts it into a crystal. The light reflects onto their faces and he tilts his head.

"I think it's beautiful. There's no orange quite as brilliant as that of fire," she says. With a twitch she douses the flames with her water and giggles. "Let's go back to the party, shall we?"

He feels her hands pulling him once more and he thinks about how he's never going to be able to keep up with her.

"How is your family?" He asks suddenly. He longs for the familiar parallel and contrast between their lives. It's easy to identify with. It gives him a reason to be so captivated with her. She slows and shakes her head a little, hand withdrawing from his. He mourns the loss of warmth for a moment before watching her slender arms reach up and wrap around her shoulders. She inhales deeply and holds the breath until he thinks she might explode.

"Katara…?" He trails off.

"My mother died," she says simply. His heart clenches and aches for her. He outstretches a hand but drops it when she exhales and turns around. Her eyes are shining and her lips look pale in the moonlight. "What am I supposed to do without my mother?" She whispers. Little tears roll down her cheeks and he frowns. His arms open in a silent gesture and she moves forward easily into them.

They fold into each other with the sureness of friendship he didn't realize could be built in one night. He runs his hand down her hair and holds her tightly as she closes her eyes.

"What happened?" He says into her hair.

"She went for a walk one day and didn't come back. When we found her a couple of days later it was already too late. My father couldn't tell what happened to her, but my best guess is an animal got to her. We just weren't sure about what kind. I just…what am I supposed to do? How can I grow up right without my mother?"

"I don't know, Katara. But I think you'll be just fine with your brother and father around. They really care about you, you know," He tells her. She nods and sniffs before backing away.

"I know."

She bites her lip and he looks at the ground, contemplating how to word his next thought.

"Katara?"

"Yes?"

"Next time, don't stay gone for so long. Come visit."

She smiles and nods. "Okay, Zuko."

He isn't sure of what else to say, so he merely takes her hand and leads her back to the crowded dance floor.


	3. I: intencity

**A/N: **The chapter title is spelled that way on purpose.

* * *

When he's fifteen, his parents hire teachers to come to the palace for him and Azula. He still fights with his uncle and Master Pakku, and Azula still learns from Li and Lo just what it means to be a graceful woman. (She's thirteen; the age girls are considered a grown woman in the Water Tribe is fourteen. He does his homework.)

Zuko writes letters to Katara. They correspond monthly. They haven't visited, except for once more during his birthday the previous year, but he's hoping that she'll get an excuse to come stay for real. Anything to keep her near to him.

He steps outside into the sunlight to train with his sister. She stands in tight black and red clothing and he slips out of his shirt. It drifts to the ground and her fingertips ignite with a pretty blue that he would find beautiful, if not for the burns across his back.

He inhales and feels fire spill from his mouth, the heat almost more than he can bear. His blood boils and he flies back before Azula's fire can mingle with his own. He's sweating and jumping from roof to roof as she whips the dust trailing from behind his feet.

He almost gets away, too – until he hears a loud _pop!_ that will later become the most familiar noise in the world. He watches as the ground freezes over and Azula falls to her knees.

He sees a familiar brown face smile and wink at him before he's entangled in his own ropes of ice and Azula is seething as they both search out the perpetrator. He sees Katara sitting with crossed arms and legs on the edge of a fountain, her teeth gleaming in the sunlight.

"Didn't see that coming, did you?" She hops off and shakes her head.

"Always expect the unexpected."

Zuko blinks at her and Azula mutters curses under her breath.

--

She's been sent to the fire nation to learn at the palace. Their fathers have apparently been corresponding as well, and she is now to be the star pupil of Li and Lo along with Azula. And she's supposed to train with him, and perfect her waterbending (in…the Fire Nation?).

The logic of their parents confuses him, but he agrees to it easily – she's _here_.

She learns with Azula in the afternoons, while others teach him. After, they read together in the library. She loves history and fairytales. He reads the classical script to her, because that's often what the stories are written in, and she watches his face closely while he bends awkwardly over the scrolls and murmurs.

She always leaves after dinner to go to the beach. She sits and watches as the sun bleeds into the horizon, as blue and red clash, and she smiles and breathes in the briny scent. When the sun finally disappears for good she stands up under the slants of moonlight and slips out of her dress.

He watches her sometimes, watches the way the blue material pools at her feet and she steps into the frothy tide and dances through her element.

She's only thirteen – so young, and so spirited, and so much more than he (just a fifteen year old prince) – could ever handle.

--

She joins him and Uncle for afternoon tea sometimes. He sips his jasmine and Uncle has ginseng. Katara prefers green with hints of raspberry, or white with a dash of blueberry. She's big on basics.

They laze about in the sunroom (the irony makes him choke) and finish off a plate of cookies. They sit on the floor with legs pulled up neatly underneath them, but Katara instead stretches her legs under the table and leans on her hands. Her blue dress is probably being washed – she's wearing the most delicate black dress he has ever seen in his life.

She's abandoned the braid for a topknot, today. (She's always ready for a change, but she looks fire nation to the bone today and he doesn't know whether to let his heart flare in pride or cringe in disappointment.)

On Saturdays Uncle reads to them from a big book of history. On Sundays, they sit together in silence for prayer. And on Mondays Katara flips their cups over and tells fortunes from the leftover tealeaves.

He consistently gets closed books, chains and animals; Katara consistently gets kites, lines and mountains. They both have various jewelry entangled with the other confusing symbols. Uncle always has parrots, for some odd reason.

He thought he had a pear, once, but Katara said it looked more like an oval. He wasn't sure. She always told them some gibberish about "destiny" and "hope"; it was always the same.

He didn't know whether to listen or just be amused.

(But the catch is that he would think of Mondays in the sunroom years later and understand just what the leaves were predicting, and then despair at how right they were all along.)

--

It's a particularly breezy day when Zuko leads Katara into his favorite courtyard to train. Her hair is dark and shiny in the sunlight and she has to bring a hand to her eyes just to see him clearly.

"Zuko, it's too sunny out here. Why can't we just train in our normal spot?" The way she says 'ours' makes his spine tingle and he grins at her cheekily.

"Afraid I'll get the upper hand?" He runs his fingers up under the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. He stretches in the sunlight and breathes in deeply. She clicks her tongue and he turns his back as she changes into her training clothes.

"You wish," she says.

The sun is warm on his back as he watches a cumulus drift lazily through the atmosphere. He takes in the energy and feels almost infinite, just standing there, knowing that she's behind him. It's not real enough for him, but it's beautiful and makes him content. He wants more.

When he turns she's standing in white bindings and loose pants. Her hands are planted on her hips and he sighs at the sight of her, so near and brilliant and perfect.

She draws a thin stream of water over her head and cracks it like a whip. He blows fire through his nose as they circle each other, predatory and silent. The wind carries her scent to him and he makes the first move.

When the torrent of fire comes at her stomach she cries out and sweeps herself up into a vortex of water and watches him. He kicks blasts of fire at her over and over and she shoots volleys of ice at his head (meant to kill, he _swears_).

She comes down from the wave she's been riding and charges at him with an exhalation of ice. His long fingers reach out and grip her stomach and he pulls her to him and breathes into her ear. He feels her body tense and curve helplessly to match his before his thumbs press into her ribs and he pushes her to the ground.

He's pulled out a knife and has it pressed to her jugular before she can utter a single word.

She lays motionless under him as he runs the sharpened edge over her skin.

"What are you doing?" Her breathing is heavy and her chest heaves. His legs are on either side of her hips and he _aches_, either from the exertion or something else (he doesn't want to think about it, most definitely not while he's still on top of her).

"Didn't see that coming, did you?" he says mockingly.

She smiles a little and shakes her head.

"I do believe it was you that told me to expect the unexpected," he reminds her. "You should practice what you preach." She shakes her head and he leans forward.

"You never know when your enemy…" he reaches his hand up to trail a finger over the bridge of her nose. "…Is going to surprise you." He taps the end and presses the knife hard enough to draw blood.

She narrows her eyes and waves a hand and before he knows it, he's hit in the face with enough water to drown an army. He manages to keep his hold on her as they tumble across the courtyard. His fingertips heat up on her wrists until her eyes water and the skin melts together.

"Stop it," she says quietly. He rolls his eyes and pushes off of her, turning his back. (He's fine.)

She whimpers and grips her wrists. He watches the leaves twist in the trees and hears her playing in the water behind him. When he turns to see what she's doing he flinches at the sight of her wounds – the scratches and burns across her skin are his fault, he knows. He also knows they'll disappear in a matter of days. (They always do, it's odd. However many times he burns her skin it returns to flawless soon enough. She has a perfect canvas of tanned skin that's…for the most part, overwhelming.)

He sighs and moves casually to watch her. The knots in her spine are prominent and he reaches out a foot to drag it down her back.

She reaches behind her head to slap at him and glares.

"Leave me alone," she spits.

He scoffs. "It's just a burn. It'll fade in a few days."

"It won't. I swear, I'm not going to forgive you this time." He watches her silently for a few minutes. He hears the ocean beat against rocks in the distance and takes in the fresh air as she fingers the burns.

"It really hurts," she trails off.

He runs a hand through his ponytail and crouches. He hears a knee pop and holds out a hand.

"Let me see," he says. She shakes her head but gives him her wrist anyway.

Her bones are always protruding. He sees the red, raw fingerprints he knows are his fault and all he can think about is how small her wrists are. He's sorry, he is – but she's got to learn to be less _breakable_.

"You're too fragile," he mumbles. He drops her wrist and grimaces. "They'll heal."

She stands up and shakes out her hair. The wind blows it back into her face and he cocks his head, looking at her.

"That's not the point."

--

The winter in the fire nation is as warm as spring in the earth kingdom. The annual New Year festival is approaching and the children (child? _him?_) have moved from practicing the arts of fighting to the arts of dancing. They join together under the meager sunlight and warm breeze about midday, waiting for Li and Lo to emerge from the palace.

Azula is picking at her nails (which have very disturbingly been filed into points) and Katara is braiding her hair. He paces impatiently and watches the double doors he can never push open.

He's feeling a little like he doesn't want to dance here, in the open with everybody (just four people) watching. He's feeling like he'd rather his _mother_ teach him, as childish as that is. He almost berates himself for being immature about the whole ordeal, but he looks up and sees faint scars on Katara's wrists and pieces of hair falling out of the braid and knows he couldn't leave if he tried.

(If you really want to know, he's always sorry about burning her.)

When the two old women finally come around he's run out of ideas to get out of dancing and has given up, standing with arms crossed and stance bored. Katara has stood and is bouncing from foot to foot and smiling a little. Azula blows hair out of her eyes and looks up with sweet eyes at her teachers.

They are followed by men and women holding various instruments and chairs. He watches them set up silently and Li or Lo (he can never tell) claps her hands and begins to instruct.

"Azula and Zuko first," she says eagerly. The two siblings step up and take the traditional waltz stance. His left hand holds her right as the other rests on her shoulder blade. He counts out the steps as the musicians play a beautiful classical piece he recognizes from other various dance lessons. They move in silence as Li (or Lo) claps lightly and gives words of praise to Azula.

He frowns as he spins her once more through the tower of their arms and bows respectfully. The music ends and she nods.

"Katara," Azula clips. The waterbender's eyes snap to hers and they share a long glance. "Your turn."

Katara stands up and looks at him. He raises his eyebrows in a typical fashion and holds his hand out to her.

When she takes it he feels suddenly warm. They're connected in a strange way and he watches her bright eyes look at him in a way that's almost disconcerting.

The music starts again, slow and haunting, and he pulls her to him and they spin. Her hands are soft in his and her waist slopes gently into an hourglass. He imagines sand tumbling over her; growing older and running out…

She spins away from him once more.

"You're quite good at this," he comments. She grins and his fingers spread comfortably over her waist.

"My mother taught me how to dance, in the South Pole. It's kind of different here…more intricate. Water Tribe dances are simple," she says.

He wants to say something about her entire lifestyle in the South Pole being simple but holds his tongue. He dips her low and watches the skin in her neck stretch taut until her hair touches the dusty ground.

"Fire Nation dances are beautiful," She breathes into his ear when he pulls her back up. He shivers and she smiles. "I like them."

(That wasn't exactly the word he was thinking of, but he'll take it.)

--

When the festival arrives his Uncle Iroh takes them to the market to buy clothes. Azula peruses through a pile of the more expensive floral patterns while Katara is across the path looking at foreign clothing and hairpieces. He's found that she's most interested in Air Nomad culture because of their secrets.

She wonders why they're gone. Where did they go? Are they dead, or just hiding? (She'll ask him, "Will my people be like that one day? Will I have to hid from the world?")

He hears Uncle talking to him about a pair of pants but all of his attention is focused on the back of Katara's head.

Zuko feels a hand pull him and his eyes reluctantly tear from her frame. A frown stretches over his face. He opens his mouth to say something spiteful, but his sister's stern face is staring back at him. He grimaces.

"Do you need something?"

"Tch, brother. No need to be nasty," she says. He hears the inflection in her voice and knows she's lying; Azula thrives off of anger. "If you can't keep your eyes off of her, then you'll spoil the surprise!" She laughs.

"What surprise?"

"What her dress will look like, idiot." Azula flicks him in the nose and wanders to the vendor with scarlet in hand. He turns to look at his uncle.

"I'm sorry, Uncle. What were you saying?" His Uncle gives him a knowing, steady look and hands him a pair of dark pants.

"These are good, Nephew. I have a shirt that will match perfectly."

Zuko nods as Iroh drags him to the vendor.

"We'll take these, sir!" Zuko rolls his eyes at his Uncle's enthusiasm and crosses his arms. He feels a breeze and looks down to find Katara, shopping bag in hand.

"Are you finished?" he questions. She nods eagerly and winks a little.

"I found the _perfect_ dress. And there was a pretty hairpiece to match!"

He nods at her. "Good."

--

If he were to stop and think twice about it, the thing about seeing Katara on the beach after dinner those six long, long years ago would be very different.

At first, the visual of a seven-year-old Katara would be endearing. He wouldn't remember quite clearly, but when he imagined that night he would see a petite brunette playing in the sand and telling stories with the ocean. She would turn and smile, take her leave into the oncoming tide, and he would go home. That's what he would see.

What he would forget is how angry he had been at his father. He would forget the disappointment in his mother that poisoned his hope at ever standing up to Ozai. He would forget how deeply upset he had been that Azula was no longer a little sister, but merely a princess he walked alongside in the palace. (He would forget how that night was the first of many nights he fell asleep feeling that way.)

He might remember how the sky faded from day to night, how the colors clashed and mostly didn't work (but just looked so _natural _together), except he wouldn't recall the way his toes dug into the sand and a fist clenched into his shirt.

Zuko would remember the exact way the fading light reflected off the water and onto Katara's hair, and would remember why he found it so beautiful.

He might remember how in a split-second he saw his entire future mapped out neatly on one ripple in the sand. And that's all.

(But he never thought twice of the _bad_ things he experienced that night – that's the good part about weeding out awful memories, even if he hadn't meant to. Only the good ones of her remained.)

--

The night of the festival arrives, and he manages to hold his breath as Katara slips gracefully down the stairs only moments after Azula.

Her hair is neatly curled, pinned in some places with matching orange clips but cascading in others, and her eyes are outlined in smoky kohl. She smiles and everything sparkles. His eyes widen a little as he takes in her dress – cream colored with a diamond cutout on her chest, skirt flaring above her knees – and Uncle smirks in a corner.

They take a palanquin to Town Square. Paper lanterns are strung on thick cords. They look like golden fireflies spinning a maze beneath the night sky. He dances with pretty girls and a fair assortment of nobles' daughters. He also dances once with his sister, for part of a more difficult dance. Her nails are sharpened and dig into his back.

When his favorite song plays he searches out Katara with his eyes. She's dancing with a boy named Kellan. (He only knows because he's the son of a nobleman, and Zuko danced with his sister minutes before. He's also gotten a lot of "who's that girl dancing with ______?" – and for the record, it's getting a little old.)

He approaches slowly, circling like a hawk (Katara would probably call him weird), and when he finally manages to get close enough he murmurs a low "may I cut in?"

Kellan hands off Katara and Zuko nods politely as he leaves. "You look nice," he comments, once they're alone.

"Nice? Is that all?"

He turns his head to the side and purses his lips. "Beautiful," he amends.

She grins and his world catches on fire. "Thank you. That's better. And you look rather handsome yourself, Prince Zuko."

He cringes and doesn't know why.

They dance in silence for a moment and he watches the curly strands of hair wrap brush on and off her shoulders. She spins out, spins in; he pulls her close to his chest and breathes in deeply. She smells sweet – sweet and icy and _girly_.

It's no secret. When the song ends she's dipped low and he can see every curve, every muscle, through the tight white ribbing in her dress. When he pulls her up she's red-faced and cute and the curves are in his _hands_, suddenly, and he stares at her so intensely she clips out a quick "is there something wrong with my face?" and it's all he can do to merely shake his head "no". Her fingers linger in his, interlaced, and he just knows.

She drifts forward on a single breath of air (one quick dart of the tongue to wet her lips) and he meets her halfway. She's soft and saccharine and tastes just like he thought she would. Her hands move up to wind around his neck, his palms rest on the small of her back, and just like that – they're kissing.

And in the strangest, most unimaginably heartbreaking way, he already loves her.


	4. II: dear you

_

* * *

__You guard your heart like some kind of castle_

* * *

**--**

**June**

**--**

The first day of summer arrives hand in hand with heat rain that pours in buckets. He mopes in the lanai of their family's summer home, alone, inhaling the damp air and pretending he hates it.

He had awoken that morning to find a note written on rice paper that Katara had probably scrawled in five seconds before rushing out of the house. He plays old tracks through a music machine and watches the rain hit the sand. Sometimes he sees lightning slither from the sky and hit the beach – or better yet, the ocean.

Ozai and his mother had let Katara, Azula and him take a couple of weeks in the vacation home. Azula wasn't interested in sitting around and bonding and had probably made her way to Ty Lee's house with Mai. (He didn't know, and to be honest, didn't really care.)

It's already dark as he watches the waves crash on the beach. He lights a lantern and watches the horizon.

His nerves are frayed, and he doesn't see her bound up the steps in time. With wide eyes, he turns and hurls a fireball in her general direction and then reaches out blindly when he realizes what's been done. She's too fast – she bends the water out of her clothes and blocks the fire as soon as it leaves his fingertips.

"Zuko!"

He narrows his eyes and stands up.

"Where have you _been?"_ He demands. She takes a step back and smiles a little. She's nearly a head shorter than him. He had forgotten his little growth spurt.

"When it rains, I always go to waterbend. You know that. And I left a note!"

"Katara, _I couldn't read that._ It was like… like a monkey learning to write. Or trying to. Next time just…wake me up."

"A monkey?" She giggles. "But you looked so cute, drooling on your pillow."

"I don't drool!"

"You do. Get over it. Next time I guess I will, but I'll get lectured on that too. 'Princes need their beauty sleep, Katara!' – yeah, because I really want to wake your _ego _up."

"You did not just say that."

"I think I did."

"…I'll give you a five second head start."

"Ten, you jerk!"

--

It's later, and they're sitting in the kitchen with a warm breeze blowing through the house as Katara patches herself up from their fight (game) and he breathes with the candles. Fire pulsates and creates orange and black shapes on the walls with his every breath. He's so absorbed in what he's doing that Katara's voice startles him.

"Why do you always have to burn my wrists?" He flinches, shocked out of his meditation, and turns to look at her with crossed arms.

She's dabbing something green over the burns on her skin and he shrugs. (It's not new; it happens every time they bend – he _knows_ they'll go away. She hasn't scarred yet.)

"I think it's a control issue," she continues, "You always have to grab my wrists because you feel like it gives you more power over me."

He frowns. "Are you an expert, now? Did I miss something?"

She looks at him with big eyes. "I'm right, though. Aren't I?"

"That I didn't miss. You always have to be right."

"You always have to win! What is it that makes you need to have control?" she counters. He doesn't want to fight, he's really just tired from waiting for her all day, and if they could go to sleep then they'd wake up the next day and this will have blown over. (If she could let things go.)

"Katara, stop. Let's just go to bed."

"Don't shut me down, Zuko."

She's frustrated. He moves in front of her and puts his hands on her shoulders. "I'm not trying to shut you down."

"Just _stop_ –" She tries to push him away and knocks over the bowl she was using. He frowns and cocks his head at her as she bends the medicine back into the dish.

"Why are you so upset?"

She hesitates.

"…It really hurts. When you burn me." He looks at her wrist and the (ever-present) red, raw fingerprints and feels a little guilty.

"They're just burns," he says after a moment. "I don't understand what's so painful about it."

She slides off the chair she was sitting in and narrows her eyes. "Haven't you ever accidentally burned yourself?"

"Firebenders are immune to their own fire."

"Hasn't your _father_ ever burned you? Your sister?" She asks as he reaches up to push hair behind her ear, all the while thinking about red ribbons and ants.

He's silent in the wake of her question, mulling it over.

He specifically remembers training with his father and learning how to blow fire. When the fire passed over his lips, they tingled; but it never hurt. He had commented on the strangeness of the move and Ozai blew fire across his neck when he wasn't paying attention. (It had burned, and he didn't really care to remember the persistent sting.)

And regardless, the whole matter was…shameful.

His father…_burning_ him…

"No," he says finally. Katara stares at him with accusatory eyes and he swears she can tell he's lying. He hears the music machine is still running in the background, skipping and clicking and he furrows his eyebrows, looking over Katara's head.

She grips his face with both of her hands and pulls him back to her, back to the present.

"I know you're lying," she says, very quietly. "But it's okay. I'm sorry for yelling. Just…please stop burning me?" He nods jerkily and she presses her head into his shoulder.

He wonders if all Water Tribe people are this sensitive (or maybe just slightly bipolar) as she sighs into his arms. His hands rest on the dip in her back as she curls around him.

She's smooth and beautiful, and when they kiss he remembers the first night and sees life through her eyes for just a moment. It's fleeting, but it's all it takes to bring him back to her, back from the past, back from things he doesn't need to remember. Back to the real world.

--

**July**

--

_There's a girl, and a boy, or maybe a woman and a man, because they've just turned 16 and 18, respectively. They've been sent to Omashu for an arranged political marriage between the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom. _

_(It's always like that with the arranged marriages and the politics and sometimes it gets kind of old -)_

_She's dressed in the most beautiful of white dresses, lace pooling at her feet, her hair curled and clipped and sparkling darkly in the sunlight, gold and yellow weaving through her skin and reflecting back at him. He watches as she walks down the aisle, hundreds of people watching with eager eyes to see if she trips, falls, or makes a mistake. She's nervous but poised in a way other women envy, and he's still watching when she catches his eye and smiles._

_(They used to put petroleum on women's teeth to make sure they kept on smiling so nobody would know -)_

_She reaches her groom. He clasps her fingers and inclines his head at the priest, indicating he should begin._

_(The words slip in one ear and out the other and the audience doesn't know any different but she –)_

_They reach the vows._

_(It might be okay if somebody just _knew -)

_It's her turn to say 'I do', and she takes one look at her feet and very, very quietly denies him._

_She looks at the sky, and then the boy-man, smiling and perfect with manicured black hair and warm golden eyes, and suddenly he's become a beast (a monster) and she's glad she found her strength._

_(You said you would never let it happen in public -)_

_The bride turns and becomes a runaway. Her dress billows as the bouquet is tossed over the edge of the world._

_He screams and falls to his knees, and the runaway bride has become a double-edged sword to love and life, and nobody really understands what's going on._

The only things they see are the burns across her back when her wrap is lost in the wind, or the stone sized bruises on the mans arm as his shirt is incinerated, or the way he cries out and reaches for her, or the way she stumbles and almost runs back to him, but then shakes her head like she thought better of it.

_It's strange, but when all is said and done the guests look up and a cold, cold wind blows through what's left of the ceremony and it's like nothing ever transpired at all._

--

Katara looks at him through glossy eyes, brows furrowed in concentration as she twirls a strand of hair. It's late afternoon. Dust motes swirl through the moist air of the beach house library, the sunlight bouncing off each piece and into his eyes.

"I don't understand," she finally says. He sits up and lets the scroll in his hands fall shut.

"On one level it's superficial – a man and woman in an arranged marriage, seemingly content with the direction their lives have taken. It's not their choice, but they seem to be okay with it, right?"

"Yeah." Katara bites her lip.

"But through the sub context you can see that maybe she isn't okay with it. And that's what leads you, the reader, into the part where she denies him her hand and the wedding goes down the drain."

"But what was the point of the burns and bruises?"

Zuko chuckles. He's become her teacher, and everyday is a new lesson with her. A new story, a new way to get in her head, a new way to get closer to…

"They hurt each other. But still stuck with the relationship, because…"

"Because they were _supposed_ to," Katara finishes. "Oh. _Oh._ That's kind of dumb. If they were only causing each other to hurt then why did they stay?"

"In some ways, I suppose they loved each other. There's nothing dumb about that."

"But he burned her."

"She practically stoned him!"

"Touché…"

He puts the scroll on a small table to his right.

"The saddest part is how in the end, it's like nothing ever happened at all. Like it didn't even matter to the world that these two people were all messed up and didn't end up together, or even happy at all. That's the worst part." She says. He's standing now, arms crossed as he examines the tide through the window.

"No," he says.

"The saddest part is how _she_ left _him."_

--

**August**

--

Katara is in the middle of a strange victory dance when he tells her.

"There's problems in the capitol." She pivots on her heel and turns to smile breathlessly at him. He turns his back on her words.

"There's always problems in your capitol."

He hears her coming from behind and his shoulders hunch when she drapes herself over him. Her presence, usually so comforting, is overwhelming. He shrugs her off and stands with hands on his hips.

"I'm serious, Katara. My father sent me a letter – "

"The Fire Lord."

"Fire Lord, Ozai, my father – they're all the same person, what's the difference?"

"There's a difference," She sighs.

"We're not getting into that right now. This is serious."

"It's always serious…" she mumbles.

"Katara, please."

"Okay, fine. What's the problem?"

"The social classes have started numerous riots. Apparently the standards of living are quite different between the upper and lower classes and it's starting to cause real problems. The peasants are living in filth while the nobility have multiple homes."

"What? What kind of riots? What else does the letter say?"

"Violent kinds. People are dying."

"Oh."

"It says we need to come home. Your father has sent letters, worried about you, and is sending a ship as soon as August is over." He looks at her eyes, wide in worry. (That's not all it says, but he doesn't think she would care that much about random conflicts in a land that's not even her own. Or even if she would care, he doesn't want to burden her with his problems.)

"Oh," Her intake of breath pushes him into motion. He turns around as she puts a hand on her chest.

"Home," she says. His eyebrows furrow. "I miss home. It's always so _hot_ here."

He glares. "The people of the Fire Nation are fighting and _killing_ each other and all you can think about is the _weather?" _

She frowns. "Zuko, of course I'm worried about – "

"If you miss your stupid tribe so much you should just leave now!" He shouts. A flower catches on fire and with a simple twitch of her fingers she pulls water from a jug and douses it. The hiss of steam fills the silence as she stares at him.

"Maybe I will."

She walks out of the door, stomping her feet (rather childishly, if you ask him) and he slaps a hand on his forehead. He chases after her.

"Katara, get back here! I didn't mean it like that."

She's sitting on the beach with her feet tucked into pockets of sand.

"Yes you did. And you know I care about what's going on at the capitol. I _do." _

He sighs. "I know. I'm just worried."

They sit in turmoil for a moment. He doesn't want to leave this place, this easy summer refuge they've managed to carve out of hell, but he has no choice. He has to. They have to go.

"We should probably leave tomorrow, then," he finally says.

She nods and it's done.


	5. II: sparks

**A/N: **one part left after this.

* * *

When their palanquin pulls in front of the double doors Zuko cringes at the sight of the extra red uniforms and takes Katara's hand. When she looks at him he doesn't say a word.

"Are you okay?"

He takes a breath.

(Okay, he thinks, is such a bland term. It doesn't work when things are _great_ and it most certainly isn't appropriate _now_, when everything is starting to go wrong. It is not _adequate_, it is not _descriptive_, and it most certainly does not cover how he's feeling.)

(He says he is anyway.)

--

Here's the thing with him and Katara: she knows too much and he says too little, so what it boils down to is them running in circles while the other never gives and it mostly just hurts (regardless of the love that blinds him, he can't say what he means – not even to her. It's a problem.)

--

Zuko overhears a war meeting. (When did this escalate from disagreements to war?) His sister is inside and he's furious when he presses his ear to the crack in the metal door and overhears plans for a raid on a small earth kingdom town east of the Capitol.

(It's called Cornea, not that anybody would ever ask.) He hears plans for the army and his nails dig so deep they break skin, but he doesn't notice the blood patter onto the floor.

He hears a soldier recall his argument with a visiting earthbender. Zuko has the pleasure of hearing how the man was tortured for government and military information.

He hears about a planned genocide of the air nomads. He feels bile rise in his throat and thinks of ancient stories read in the depths of the library, of summer, and he can't understand how these people – supposedly the smartest in the world – are letting history repeat itself. It's not the first genocide, and most certainly not the last. But he thinks they should know better. Should be more _educated_.

He doesn't want to hear it, but this is what he goes through to be a silent and powerless part of his country.

The war games sicken him, but he grits his teeth and sits through at least two hours of tactics, back bent uncomfortably in an attempt to listen through the crack in the door.

(Nobody asked him to, but he's the prince of the Fire Nation goddammit and nobody even gave him the chance to say a word.)

--

They take a normal day out and at least _try_ to walk through the market, shopping. It's him and Katara and she bought some new hairpieces and everything is going so well when _BAM_** – **she hits him like a speeding train and it almost knocks the wind out of him.

"There's bad blood between the nations…right?" She begins. He stops and looks at her with yellow eyes wary. It's almost interesting how she worded it, but he can't make himself think straight. "And this bad blood…is turning into something else." He nods jerkily.

"Something else like a…fight?"

He says nothing.

"A war?" When he looks at the ground, she confirms her own words with a gust of air between her teeth. "A war, then. A _war_…"

He feels something inside of him crumbling – the last bit of his childhood escaping with one simple sigh, or maybe his innocence fading like the sunlight of the passing day. It doesn't hurt, but it makes him sad and angry all at once. It isn't fair that now, when Katara and him are finally able to just _be,_ that the world is interrupting with its petty arguments. Who _cares_ if the ice supply was late a month – people are able to sustain themselves with grains for a little while. Who _cares_ if the air nomads are different – who cares if they won't share their treasures or secrets? That's what makes them what they are. It's not fair that they are alienated and isolated and labeled as different or not _good_ enough because of Ozai's standards.

He hates Ozai. He despises his father from the depth of his being: for making him feel worthless, for making his country something fearful instead of beautiful, and for keeping Azula from being a normal girl. He hates his father the most for making his mother a coward.

The hate bleeds through him like poison and he clenches his fist.

All of this in the span of a second, and he begins to dread the future. He doesn't want to be here.

"This is wrong," he says to her.

"All war is wrong." She says back. He recognizes the peacekeeper in her and respects it, but frowns slightly because he knows in the depth of his own heart he craves conflict. Not this kind, never this kind, on this grand of a scale, but he can't take sitting still. He needs something to keep his heart beating _fast_.

He hears the pitter-patter of little feet to his left and turns.

He sees fire nation children playing with earth kingdom children. The colors of their clothes clash and are somewhat irritating, but he appreciates the sentiment. They're running towards something and his lips quirk up on one side.

He inclines his head slightly and Katara turns just in time to see a little girl, garbed in green, get shot in the back of the head. And suddenly they are all running _away_.

Time slows to almost a standstill as he sees the delicate green of her shirt stain with red – the very color of the nation that despises her. (The very color that runs through every being on the planet.)

He doesn't stop to acknowledge Katara gasping for air between screams, but instead grabs her hand and pulls her forward so hard her shoulder is dislocated. She screams louder, but he pulls her along anyway. The strangest part is the lack of screaming. He sees fire nation people hiding behind stalls, in alleys, running to houses for shelter.

Yet he sees the earth kingdom people lying in the street like trash, their throats closing up and bodies bleeding dry. He turns his head and retches in the middle of his frantic sprint away from the (crime) scene.

They run through crowds of people, and he only remembers that Katara is dressed like a foreigner, too, when he sees the masked demons in front of him. Her leggings are black, her shoes are black, her hair is in a topknot – but her shirt is a beautiful, gentle blue. (It matches her eyes – he remembers liking it because of that.) Her hair is lighter than theirs. When he hears the fire nation soldier's guns shoot he closes his eyes and pulls her to his chest, the blue disappearing under the billowing red of his tunic. She cries into him briefly until her voice fades completely and he feels the recoil of her wounds in his own chest.

His eyes roll back into his head and he hits the ground, their blood mixing in the dirt.

--

He wakes up a week later in the palace infirmary tripped out on strong medicine. He feels like a guinea pig but ignores it.

Katara is bandaged up sitting on a window seat. He sits up quietly and pushes his covers aside, stumbling towards her like a blind man seeing the sun.

"Katara?" She doesn't move and he walks up behind her. He carefully runs his fingers over the back of her neck. Her hair is piled on top of her head and secured with a band. She wears no shirt, but merely has bandages covering her entire torso. He wants to cry when she gets goose bumps.

He runs his finger over her spine. "Katara…"

His eyebrows furrow and his face breaks a little when she turns to him. Her face is a pasty white he doesn't expect. She's gaunt and frail looking, her eyes haunted and glassy. She pauses for a moment, only moving when she falls forward so her head can rest on his chest. He can feel the bullet holes in her back where she's been stitched up when he puts his arms around her. He shuts his eyes in an effort to block it out, but when she cries he starts to, too.

He kisses her like he's got nothing else to live for.

Her skin is cold and he's burning with fever, but they forget everything but each other for the moment. (They forget it isn't that simple, too.)


End file.
